THE HARD ROAD LYRICS

RECAPTURING THE VIBE

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions.
Written and performed by D. Smith and M. Lambert. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Pressure

It’s the next chapter, where’s all my head at?
You slept at the fact that we crept back to,
Set factors straight, the only dead rappers,
Are penned at the papes of no cred actors,
Those haters, no you don’t faze us,
Cos you don’t know shit so, you’re on a need to know basis,
And those gracious folk with no status,
I made this flow for you, no your own name is,
Not a part of the bigger picture, listen it’s the,
Middle finger that you put up in a fixture,
Life’s a bitch and it’ll hit you,
If I could pimp women like I do words I’d be living literature,
Hip Hop’s a circus act this is absurd but fact,
One critic or cynic for every that learned to rap,
One lyric with gimmick for every with purpose that,
Furthered rap culture round the earth and back,
But some diss but when I’m up in your face,
You’re a man of your word; you got nothing to say,
I got respect for the scene and love for the place,
Where I bled for my dreams and struggled for change,
We’re still striving on, we’re still alive and strong,
Right or wrong I’d still kill for where I belong,
Insightful on the real deal when I write a song,
Question, you still feel the vibe I’m on?

Verse 2: Suffa

I’ll have the whole crowd like, oh shit, that’s right I said it,
I’ll be like, da, dala, da, da, roll like the credits,
Two of the best to ever edit poetics,
It be the three headed beast from Obese come to set it,
Off, Hilltop in the place, sir just calm down,
Spit fire on stage and burn your bar down,
You hear it bumping in clubs you turn your car round,
You hear it pumping in pubs you buy the bar a round,
Pump it up in your car; turn your car into a club,
Smash through the wall of a pub and burn the bar down,
Just burn the bar down, like a disco inferno,
MCs aren’t the only thing we burn though,
I’m the arsonist like Rakim is,
So ask your kids who the number one artist is,
Obese got the mad fucking roster while,
Your crew couldn’t even house a foster child,
You’re flamboyant like Oscar Wilde, I got to smile,
When you panic on stage like you lost a child,
Where’s Benny? Benny’s across the road watching Hilltop,
Cos they got the flow the hills have still got,
The skills, the beats to get nice on,
Don’t need drugs, I get a buzz when the mics on,
So hit the floods Suffa like it with the lights on,
Hilltop, we’re what’s left when the vibe’s gone.

CLOWN PRINCE

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Debris for Take Away Productions. Written and performed by
M. Lambert and D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris. Contains a sample of ‘Laying Pipe’, performed by Pornosonic. Used courtesy of Virgin Monk Muzic (BMI) and Valley Entertainment Incorporated.

Chorus

It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days, I’m the clown prince.
It’s your round, if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days when I was a teenager.

Verse 1: Suffa

First up on the dulcet tones of the Gravy Bone Project,
Suffa MC came to take you home,
I drip lyrics like spit, spit lyrics like drips,
Into arms I’ll lick your spirit with my miracle whip,
Whip, cos what I’m hearing’s all shit on the lyrical tip,
Nah I aint feeling you kid, we gave you,
Something to jock, but it wasn’t no thing,
Like Bobby gave Whitney a rock but it wasn’t no ring,
And I’m a keep at em, crossing my fingers that Eve,
Says keep Adam, I’m going down on Louise,
And I’m a wreak havoc, little man with a big pen,
I got dirty habits like a nun in a pig pen,
Like drinking, smoking, cursing, sucking,
Titties, representing the city that I grew up in,
We laid the path so you got a way in,
It’s Hilltop; we’re three stars like a Holiday Inn.

Chorus

It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days, I’m the clown prince.
It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days when I was a teenager.

Verse 2: Pressure

Next up, when I get loose with no fail,
Appealing like the naked truth and the truth is for sale,
So when I leave yo, you’re fucking with my pride I don’t see though,
Typical MC, my nuts don’t match the size of my ego,
I seize an opportunity cos they don’t linger,
The glass aint half empty its half full that why I’m a table drinker,
Think you’re on Pressures level? Only thing tight bro,
That you might show is dressed in several of your wife’s clothes,
An arrogant fucker damaging suckers masterfully,
If I married your mother you still wouldn’t be half of me,
You should run from me, fuck battling aint nothing sweet,
Cos I won’t beat you to the punch I’ll punch you to the beat,
Don’t get offended by the rubbish that we pump in the street,
My foots always in my mouth I just cant stomach defeat,
I’m a master these until it’s hard to breathe,
Its Hilltop, we’re the first to come last to leave.

Chorus

It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days, I’m the clown prince.
It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days when I was a teenager.

Verse 3: Suffa and Pressure

I’m smooth like Marlon Brando at thirty,
At my peak like Marlon Brando at fifty,
And I’m fat like Marlon Brando at seventy,
Fuck it; no MC could ever better me,
And half the time half my crew could drink the bar,
And half these cats aint half of what they think they are,
We independent, I’d sign on the line,
The day me giving you the finger is a sign of the times,
Their rhymes are designed to try diss us, but why diss us?
I don’t rewind to try to find disses,
Man, I just recline and mind my business,
And I think in lines in rhymes, the rhyme stitches,
Up the minds of the lines of dimes and fine…
I pen letters that kill,
Then stab your neck with a feather until you’ve bled in my quill,
This veteran’s ill, thinking you can better my skill,
You need medicine chill a Pressure vendettas for real.

Chorus

It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days, I’m the clown prince.
It’s your round if you’re hanging at the back of the bar,
So just bounce like you’re banging in the back of your car,
We turn it out, Hilltop; we’ve been down since,
Back in the days when I was a teenager.

THE HARD ROAD

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions. Written and performed by M. Lambert and D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris. Contains a sample of ‘Out in the Woods’, written and performed by Leon Russel. Used courtesy of Universal Music.

Verse 1: Suffa

Growing up I needed a guide like, a blind veteran’s dog,
Cos I was going nowhere like a child’s letters to god,
Though life’s road was hard I was never so lost,
That I looked for an answer in a medicine box,
I never did pop pills, or cop deals, just rocked hills,
Kids with skills, still got harassed by the cops till,
They’d have me in the back of a paddy, down to lock up,
Smack me, pat me down for a baggy, moms would rock up,
And bail me out, a failure out once again,
Next weekend, bail me out, drunk again,
And I never will forgive myself, for putting you through all that hell,
I went from high school dropout to factory labourer,
Slave to the clock until four, went from sleeping on the floor,
To being out on tour, now no stopping me,
I’ll finish with a bang like Kurt Cobains biography.

Chorus

Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been. And don’t know where to go its like,
Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been.

Verse 2: Pressure

I spent my youth like life was cheap,
The only change that I wanted was enough to buy a drink,
Was on a path to nowhere, the harder the road,
The more broken baggage we carry the larger the load,
This school drop-out got knocked out, chased by the cops out,
Got clout, dumped by my girlfriend and locked out,
Been broke and beaten, even chocked at being,
A dope mc but never lost hope in dreaming,
We used to thrash boosted cars till the engine would fail,
If I never had bailed maybe I’d be dead or in jail,
And man I got no one else to blame,
I thank my family and music for keeping me sane,
But that’s the breaks right? Started working late nights,
Never seeing daylight, getting paid like a slave might,
And I’ve done too many years to miss this for my missus,
To have to tell my son he nearly never existed.

Chorus

Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been. And don’t know where to go its like,
Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been,
DJ Debris c’mon and break it down like,

Verse 3: Suffa

And I speak what I feel in the booth in the spirit of truth,
Cos all these kids that I meet man they mirror my youth,
And I could have gone the wrong way, the easy option,
But I chose to go the long way, the streets are watching,
So keep a look out, look up, B-Ballers keep your hook up,
Tear a page from my book out, and pull out,
Your finger put your foot out and keep a lookout,
For what we put out, the brand new flavour for your cookout.

Chorus

Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been. And don’t know where to go its like,
Going down a hard road, down the hard road,
Don’t know where I’ve been…

STOPPING ALL STATIONS

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions.
Written and performed by D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Pressure

Early morn, train station, aching from the arthritis,
This war veteran knows what a hard time is,
He needs his pension, dementia and half blind is,
The reason he rides the train with no car license,
So he boards with an expired ticket has a swipe,
Gets a fine cos the change he got don’t add up right,
We’re taking about a man who never lived a lavish life,
Caught up in the age of computer chips and satellites,
A lovely lady boards looking tired and half awake,
He smiles, she’s reminds him of his wife that passed away,
She says something as she walks right past his way,
His old hearing aid don’t last quite half a day,
Some young gentlemen alive with their laughter,
Approach the old timer and put a knife to his heart to,
Explain that money or bloods the price of their barter,
To a man whose friends probably died for their fathers.

Chorus

Whatever it takes can justify,
Whatever ends we make, whatever the price,
To the end of a life, it’s just an observation,
So take a ride we’re stopping all stations.

Verse 2: Pressure

It’s been a long night the suns lifting on a cold,
Morning but she’s drugged and drunk tripping on her stroll,
On the way home, she’s done with stripping on a pole,
But she can’t pay for her son living on the dole,
Jumps a train puts on her gloves she’s wearing black,
Being watched by some old mug she’s glaring back,
She’s on edge and got the bug from sharing smack,
So she says, “Hey, what the fuck you staring at?”
He smiles, an unsteady hand rubs on his dome,
She takes a seat, a messy band of ruffs board alone,
To the digger with a machete at his lungs and he’s prone,
He can barely stand but ready to stand up for his own,
She tries to help him, she doesn’t choose to flee the car,
And catches a blow with enough bruise to leave a scar,
She starts fainting, the rooms moving and seeing stars,
Aint it amazing how courageous human beings are?

Chorus

Whatever it takes can justify,
Whatever ends we make, whatever the price,
To the end of a life, it’s just an observation,
So take a ride we’re stopping all stations.

Verse 3: Pressure

He knows nothing but toil, strife and hard yakka,
Pissed at the world for playing wife in a slammer,
This man was never given a life on a damn platter,
So he jumps a train with knife and bandanna,
Boys at his back, sleazy, hardened and far,
From giving a fuck, an easy target his mark,
He sees an old man and says “See we’ll part with your hard,
Earned cash or rest in peace we can start with your heart.”
Some girl steps not afraid she’s gonna cop it sweet,
And gets decked before she made it even on her feet,
The old man leaped to her aid and to his horror he’d,
Thrusted his chest into the blade of his robber’s piece,
He grabbed the wallet, dropped the knife as he fled the car,
Concerned about the loss of life he’d never went this far,
What’s done is done, he’d got the prize and he’d spent his half,
Of two dollars in change and a pension card.

CONVERSATIONS FROM A SPEAKEASY FEAT. OMNI

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/J. McDonald) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions. Written and performed by D. Smith, J. McDonald and M. Lambert. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Pressure

Let’s get introductions aside,
Pressure, Omni and Suffa tonight busting the mic like,
Lately I’ve been hearing nothing but hype,
Pen’s mightier than your sword? Then you’d be fucked in a fight,
From the point of the exact conception I’ve had perfection,
And you aint close to Omni even though you may lack direction,
I’ve got a good heart, but bad intentions,
Pressure don’t need a map for reference I’m a man of legends,
I’ll last forever like bad impressions,
Like the first night you cursed in adolescence,
The way I slam a sentence can panic veterans,
Some things are better left unsaid like anything that I have to mention,
My loud mouths my downfall it’s doubtful,
I’ll bite off more than I can chew cos I already got a mouthful,
Act like I astound yall, well I’m a scoundrel,
With enemies but cliché is a friend of me, I’m out yall.

Chorus

Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation.

Verse 2: Omni

The heart of the giant, the eye of the lion,
The smell of victory is what makes me keep trying,
My will to survive is like I’m stranded on an island,
I keep rhyming; keep climbing till somebody find me,
My city’s been behind me since the mid nineties,
Right around the time when it was cool to be grimy,
My DJ used to make the earth spin in reverse,
Put the needle to the dirt, spread the word like you heard it first,
Now it’s all twisted, somebody told the truth but they missed it,
I put it on my CD but they skipped it,
But that’s what happens when you do something different,
Some people can just stay content with the simple shit,
I live my life fast like it’s my last,
I don’t trip off of cash or dwell in the past,
I’m bigger than that; I’m bigger than rap,
One of the sickest MCs on the map for bringing that back

Chorus

Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation.

Verse 3: Suffa

I heard there ain’t no party like an open bar,
We lay out rhymes like drinks for a broken heart,
Heartbreak like liquor in an open scar,
So bizarre, roll thick like smokers tar,
Tell me who can rock parties with no guitar,
And if I aint getting paid then I’m leaving in the promoters car,
Tell me who you know this far,
Gone, on till the moments…
Gone, on till the break of this governments back,
And it’s on till my mates are all loving the tracks,
No thugs in his raps, no muggings or macks,
And no guns, just trying to get us up on the map,
Bust, Suffa on wax, trust it’s on,
I’m trying to do for rhyme what digital cameras did for porn,
Born in a small town, die with a big mouth,
Hoods tore it all down, shouts to the kids south.

Chorus

Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation,
Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation,
Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation,
Pull up a chair, and kick your feet on the table,
Let down you hair, lean back in your seat if you’re able,
We’ve got the Jazz, for your speakeasy conversations,
It’s the universal language of relaxation.

WHAT A GREAT NIGHT

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions.
Written and performed by M. Lambert. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Suffa

This is for the hopeless, the homeless, the brokest, the dopest,
The smokers, the jokers on opiates and coke it’s,
Your choice, I won’t judge you tonight,
Cos I’m paralytic, I ain’t looking to lose a fight,
So put your hands up if you’re not to drunk to stand up,
If you bombing up the toilets put your man up,
And put your can up, spray it in the air mate,
Check out my man, fuck its all going pear shaped,
They call me Suff when I’m drunk they call me fuck off,
Head under the bar trying to drink the run off,
I’m a one of a kind; I’ll rhyme till I’m cut off,
Or just to fucking blind to get one off,
Don’t call me son of a bitch; I’m the son of an angel,
When the sun of the morning hits it’s so painful,
These all nighters are killing me,
But it’s alright are you feeling me?

Chorus

And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night,
And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night.

Verse 2: Suffa

This is for the gamblers, the ramblers,
The grandmas and grandpas,
The fans of the samplers, my godson in pampers,
Champ let’s all amp this out like Peavey,
Like De La said it’s so easy, it’s so easy, to pack this,
Chain smoking in the back,
Like I had three cigarettes and one match it’s,
The one who sucks tequila from a cactus,
You couldn’t hack this with axes, to all the detractors,
Go listen to Axis if you want proof,
That Obese ain’t actors, we produce,
The rawest performance from verse to the chorus,
Hung like a walrus, run like a tortoise,
Obese, enormous, flawless on the cordless,
I own this mic like my name was Shure it’s,
For the poorest or richest, slowest or quickest,
Flow with a sickness, bro you know what this is?

Chorus

And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night,
And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night,
Gin and tonic, you rock the house,
Tequila shots, you rock the house,
Chivas Regal, you rock the house,
Yager bombs, you rock the house,
And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night,
And it’s all love, and it’s alright,
Till we’re all drunk, then it’s all fights,
Then it’s all over, go home, go sleep,
Wake up, get sober, what a great night.

CITY OF LIGHT

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions.
Written and performed by M. Lambert and D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris.
Bass guitar by Chris Lambert. Electric guitar by Nick Lambert.

Verse 1: Suffa

I’m from the city of light, with a sky of vanilla,
Known as the city of churches home of the serial killer,
And in the summer it feels like a hundred degrees,
Where I’m from you might see Suffa MC,
Walking the traps trying to escape the map,
Ninety one was my shit I’m trying to take it back,
To when writers ran the line and transits ran the gambit,
My memories the paint, let the track be my canvas,
Thirteen sitting in a park, sipping wine casks,
Watching whole cars as they went flying past,
I couldn’t paint so I rhymed to the writers,
They’d laugh, light a smoke, and get blinded by their lighters,
‘Nasty Arts’ ran my line evading cop cars,
And we looked up to them like they were rock stars,
Paint stained hands and fame like Manson,
That’s Charles not Marilyn, a city held to ransom,
Cans and markers, Country Road parkers,
Hands of an artist left the landscape enchanted,
Until the government pigs had all the paint washed,
From our city walls, end of the renaissance,
And so the walls where the colours once played,
Were replaced by the buff, now a sullen blunt grey,
White washed, shitty, all grey, all black,
Waiting for the kids of this city to take their walls back.

Verse 2: Pressure

I’m from the city of light, with a sky of vanilla,
Known as the city of churches home of the serial killer,
And in the winter, the city sleeps dead in the freeze,
Where I’m from you might see Pressure MC,
Walking the traps trying to escape the map,
Ninety three was my shit I’m trying to take it back,
Got kicked out of school but I would have left in time,
With nothing but an ego and rap to get me by,
I swept floors, packed orders, when poor racked from Porters,
Liquor store just to score me a four track recorder,
Fifteen, sneaking in the back door to the gig,
Thought I could rip, bro trust me I fought for this shit,
Cos the city’s darker than a starless night,
And treats a starter like a fresh piece of meat,
Greet the carving knife,
Till the day came and I’d scar consortiums,
I’d lay waiting, train stations and parks my audience,
Before we had our beats made, before we had a DJ,
We’d rock to a beat box, before that shit was clichéd,
You see mate? I refused to lay low and gave those,
Better years of my life to pave roads,
Live as hell, we did it by ourselves,
The only secret to this shit is one that time will tell,
So breathe in cos the city invites, jealously, pity and blight,
You’re in the city of light.

OBESE LOWLIFES FEAT. MYSTRO & BRAINTAX

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/K. AMARFIO/J. Christie). Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions. Written and performed by K. AMARFIO, D. Smith, J. Christie and M. Lambert. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Mystro

Well I’m the one to bring the funk although my armpit’s not stinking,
And I’m known to hold flows like the glass you drop drinking,
Never crude man I started of limping,
Plus I rock a fella like I know the art of parking lot pimping yeah,
You people know of Mys, the one whose flow’s crazy,
And is so gravy that it should come with a bowl of rice,
The NBS with the Hilltop Hoods,
Make B-Boys and Girls break quicker than real soft wood, let’s go.

Verse 2: Pressure

I never hit on a girl, at least with no hand,
Girls are like serving time but time waits on no man,
Got nothing on women so I spread love on the rhythm,
And get you out your seat quicker than corrupt politicians,
And I’m on the brink, man it makes me stop and think,
I don’t drink till I drop cos I think I might drop my drink,
Think you’re more, than us? We believe in war,
Trust me your nothing I aint seen before.

Verse 3: Braintax

With one pen too high to overextend,
In dreamland with freedom starting again,
With foresight thrive on the magic of life,
And five fingers plus a mic make sick shit, Braintax,
Fuck Tony Blair like I hate George Bush,
Another seven day week, you ready for the push?
Through the eight million stories that you can’t write down,
Start again from the top, come on people bounce.

Verse 4: Suffa

Man all these pollies in power are cowards so it’s only fair,
That I hate John Howard like I hate Tony Blair,
And I croon like Tony Bennet in a rental tux,
Experimental cuts, with the Brando Flux and Mys Diggy,
No one’s as fly as these kings,
I’ll leave you beside yourself like Siamese twins,
We’re so deep, so nice, so full of promise,
But obese, lowlifes man what woman would want us?
We’re like some hooded up bombers out storming the yard,
We’re going large like a junkie out pawning his car,
This is the core of the art, and it’s all from the heart,
This music put your life together when it’s falling apart.

CIRCUIT BREAKER

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/D. Rankine) Produced by Trials for Peepshow Entertainment.
Written and performed by M. Lambert and D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris.

Verse 1: Suffa

I got to jump back and kiss myself,
The Hoods have comeback to rip this girl,
Live on the drum track you dissed yourself,
So drunk that you nearly pissed yourself,
And if you come wack you risk your health,
I’m the one that made LL ring the bells,
Sharp as a thumb tack, it’s the infidel,
In the back with some girl named Isabelle,
And I’m a, you’re gonna what? I’m a wreck this, the freshest,
Thermoelectrics, technics and a set list,
So check this, Hilltop locks jaws like tetanus,
Fuck breakfast at Tiffany’s I want Tiffany for breakfast,
The funk leader, told you last LP,
With a style that make you smile like a Chelsea,
Smile, what the fucks that man? It’s when you place,
Razor blades on the cheeks then a kick to the face,
In the place and we raising the roof,
Like Al Qaeda had placed a case in the booth,
A taste of the truth and some flawless shit,
Like John Howard knows the taste of George’s dick,
Man I’m born to spit, these kids wish they stuck me,
I warn you kid you’re bitch made like puppies,
Switch blade to Nazis’ cut them through their khakis,
I lose it every time I put it down like car keys.

Verse 2: Pressure

It only takes one man to bust,
But takes these two to raise them standards up,
Take three, Debris man the cuts,
This is for, those that will stand with us,
From sundown into the dawn didn’t I warn?
The lyrical storm hits you in a physical form,
This isn’t your norm, didn’t reform, isn’t your average,
Wishing to score listeners for pitiful crap it’s,
Off Richter, sicker than cough fits you,
Listen to pop hits? This isn’t your soft shit you,
All in the mix so start warning the kids,
They’re adopted and not that they were born with a gift,
I’m so fatal that reverends won’t stay till confession,
You all can’t hold your own like post natal depression,
I’ve got a mouth of profanity, a spouse and a family,
At my house man no wonder that I’m doubting my sanity,
I’m an honest drunk, what a mentality,
Avoiding the truth is staying sober; I’m an addict of reality,
I live for tomorrow so cheating death today,
Means at all costs avoid repeating yesterday,
I’m a loose cannon, enough juice to soothe famine,
Break your back with this rap then ask you who’s slamming?
Some rapper claiming a throne, unaware they,
Aint kings only royalty they know is airplay.

BREATHE

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions. Written and
performed by D. Smith. Scratches by DJ Debris. Bass Guitar by Chris Lambert. Trumpet by Phil Ingram.

Verse 1: Pressure

In life, we struggle as individuals,
A fine line between a cliché saying and something original,
As if in death we left something residual,
Behind to mark our time up in this pitiful,
Existence and I’m a man of many issues,
If I ever dissed you, no disrespect I never wished to,
Hold a grudge the stress makes me act like this,
The day I get it off my chest I won’t write tracks like this,
But I’ll be bitter on them when all is done and is forgotten,
Cos it’s easier to sit and complain than fix the problem,
But the power of speech empowers our beliefs,
With sour defeats, man nothing is out of reach,
Got plenty to answer for, all I do is answered back,
Done a thousand things I regret, apologize for none of that,
So you get back what you put in no regrets,
And keep on until they know your sweat, you only get.

Chorus

One chance, so I live for the moment,
I’m just one man what I wouldn’t give for this moment,
We got one world; still we take it in stride,
In this one life we stand still waiting to die,
One chance, so I live for the moment,
I’m just one man what I wouldn’t give for this moment,
We got one world; still we take it in stride,
In this one life we stand still waiting to die.

Verse 2: Pressure

Now if life is what you make it it’s time to build,
Man I’m for real aint no telling what this life will yield,
I’m a career man, cos I career off any path,
That would lead me to a start of financial gains I’m scarred,
We learn from our mistakes, that makes me a scholar on,
Being a walking talking fuck up and a better man for being wrong,
I’m humble and loyal, my friendships are honored,
A mans success aint measured by the depths of his pocket,
I give good advice but never follow it, what’s left for me?
I’m a hypocrite and if I weren’t I’d be a success story,
View this wide world through a narrow gaze, these harrowed days,
Seen too many men end in a shallow grave,
I guess it’s better to have loved and to lost, than never stumbled across,
The gift of knowing you what ever the fucking cost,
To put it in perspective and under my vision,
This world is superficial; I’m done with others opinions.

Chorus

We get one chance, so I live for the moment,
I’m just one man what I wouldn’t give for this moment,
We got one world; still we take it in stride,
In this one life we stand still waiting to die,
One chance, so I live for the moment,
I’m just one man what I wouldn’t give for this moment,
We got one world; still we take it in stride,
In this one life we stand still waiting to die.

THE BLUE BLOODED FEAT. MORTAR, FUNKOARS, HAU, DRAPHT, VENTS, MILKBAR ALLSTARS & ROBBY BALBOA

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/R. Mortimer/D. Rankine/A. Baker/L. Latukefu/P. Ridge/J. Lardner/
D. Young/T. Staff/R. Warren/M. Honson) Produced by Suffa for Suffering City Productions.
Written and performed by M. Lambert, R. Mortimer, D. Rankine, A. Baker, L. Latukefu, P. Ridge,
J. Lardner, D. Young, T. Staff, R. Warren, M. Honson and D. Smith.

Introduction: Trials

We have a whole lot of superstars on this stage here tonight,
And I want you to know one thing, this is…

Verse 1: Suffa

Hilltop, that’s where the blood runs,
Thick, it’s where kings bury there loved ones,
Sick, kids guard their crop with a slug gun,
From rips, move like Schapelle on a drug run,
So quick, there’s kids in the park waiting,
These are my poison diaries like Mark Latham,
So start hating, though you know in your heart,
We’ve been owning this art since our flow in the park.

Verse 2: Mortar

You can’t serve me like Serena and Venus,
Comparatively I leave you looking like the machinist,
Cats know they’ve been hit, when I spike the mic level,
And draw blood like intravenous,
Without a pencil I’m hell bent,
Leave dents in the condenser, you can tell when,
Mortar’s been in the booth to rhyme,
I don’t scratch vinyl,
I scratch up the mic with my canines.

Verse 3: Trials and Sesta

Mr Trials, young ladies jump in the sack,
I never kiss and tell instead I fuck it and brag,
I’m an angry drunk when I’m grabbing a rum,
And skull shots till we fall from grace like Eric Clapton’s son,
South of the country, west of the city,
Chip into that kitty if we’re going to be drinking until the skank pretty,
Will he attack? When he snap, got the track like,
Bring it back, hear him rap? Isn’t that Funkoars?
You can find us staggered in a cipher,
Turning human traffic to a five car pile up,
We leave them all for dead,
I used to think big till it killed L, Pun, Smalls and Kev,
Like bad move, got you looking like you’re eavesdropping the devil,
And T set the theme to send them to hell,
Bet on it, you’re never better, I tell them again,
Seddy bury every adversary he put against.

Verse 4: Hau

Fresh off the boat with an impressive approach,
To writing rhymes like pressing your throat,
The unquestionable dopeness, and oh yes,
It’s the one and only, in the house like the gun is on me
Got you gronks saying blimey he’s clever,
He’s brighter than that sun in the shiniest of weather,
Girls you want diamonds forever?
Well throw your hymens in the sky if you feel the vibe.

Verse 5: Drapht

None of gravities properties are on top of me,
Can’t hold me back from taking a stab like Chopper Read,
Can’t hold me back, I’m back around again like stalkers,
My mic holds a force like a sword or a tomahawk,
To Conan, walking with no man now,
Cos you freeze when you spit like a snow mans mouth,
Arouse with every word, first you’ve got to know this,
We don’t belong together like Rove and showbiz.

Chorus

And we what?—Run with crew,
Whose what?—Blood is blue,
Through life’s—Fucking zoo,
And we might—Come for you,
And we what?—Run with crew,
Whose what?—Blood is blue,
Through life’s—Fucking zoo,
And we might—Come for you.

Verse 6: Vents

The saga begin, RPM drama again,
My lung burn, dangerous carcinogen,
Starving like Stalin in parliament in Prague again,
In camouflage targeting,
In Rock Creek Park, carve terror in the bark,
Blueprint, build pyramids in the dark,
The blood run deep, renegade creep,
Hilltop connect bro, centigrade heat.

Verse 7: Muphin and Pegz

Muph, some give me shit for my name,
But I don’t give a shit about you shit for brains,
Been a long while so I know the game,
It’s more about music than your clothing range,
We’re here to overtake, setting the standard,
Obese crew, we’re the devilish family,
Stand on stage accepting a Grammy,
For the most incredible rapping since edible panties,
Unforgettable pansies in a flickering fit,
Knickers in a twist in a spiral of shit,
Undeniable gift with decipherable spits,
My fireball pit will burn you Muppets,
True rugged, blue blooded dignitary,
Crews love it when we do something visionary,
Move up never lose touch, living ready,
This is the hard road cargo hitting heavy.

Verse 8: Robby Balboa

Robby Balboa bless the text,
Deliver you ticket to death,
Rivers of rhythm ripping the flesh,
Triple your bets on the primitive pest,
Selling sick smut from the cinema steps,
It begins with a breath, a kid killing his pets,
Just sitting in debt when I’m feeling a wreck,
Life’s a bitch and so we’re wringing her neck,
Fuck a metro in a pink shirt cos we’re kicking the set.

Verse 9: Honz

The Funkoars and the Hilltop, yes, we still rocking it,
And I aint going near your bill unless we fucking topping it,
I drink till I’m all over the shop like barcodes,
And as far as rap goes, I’ve mastered my flows,
Certified and we back again to wreak havoc,
With these pads and pens so understand my friend,
We about to take over just like Hove spit it,
To the most gifted get them glasses up and toast with us.

Verse 10: Pressure

Pressure MC, born with a mechanical mind,
The talent of rhyme, instinctual like animal kind,
Now I flow with the best, from east coast to the west,
We live in the flesh like my raps sewn in your chest,
You can’t fathom the dopest flow, amateurs don’t you know,
What ever happened to a good old fashioned broken nose?
Don’t become a casualty of my faculty,
Damn I got spine but you’ll never see that back of me.

Chorus

And we what?—Run with crew,
Whose what?—Blood is blue,
Through life’s—Fucking zoo,
And we might—Come for you,
And we what?—Run with crew,
Whose what?—Blood is blue,
Through life’s—Fucking zoo,
And we might—Come for you.

MONSTERS BALL

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/A. Simmonds) Produced by Simplex.
Written and performed by M. Lambert and D. Smith.

Verse 1: Suffa

You sound like a bitch man,
Nymphos in your clip and disco riffs man,
I’ll tell you this, OK, it don’t fit man,
It’s like OJ, little glove, big hand,
Step to this I’ll take your miss, make her twist and,
Moan, like I fucked with the pitch man,
This land where the bricks stand,
On red sands, I spit grams of powdered Difflam,
To ease your muscle pain, do the hustle,
Came to tussle against the corporate gain man,
Parcels move train to plane in the struggle,
Markers give a claim to fame in the jungle,
Street revolutionaries, we the evolutionary,
Anomalies, but stupidly they try stopping me,
That’s only making me a martyr we,
Like opiates in the vein, attack the arteries,
Don’t get smart with me; I got a heart in me,
Like Pharlap, and gone so far raps now a part of me,
I got camaraderie, the great unwashed,
I got a heart in me that pump’s straight up scotch,
But crews still try to diss me, till I switch it on em,
Like they try to diss Fats, till they see a picture of him,
Big boys, aint small man, they tall and,
Ugly, want to cut me come and join the monsters ball man.

Verse 2: Pressure

These are the last of days, a vast array,
Of fake fucks up in a masquerade,
It’s swim or drown, we act we don’t sink,
Its primal instinct we rap we don’t think,
Its do or die, no turning back like suicide,
Till you’re doing time with these cut throats in a suit and tie,
So don’t feed the animals, or act a fool,
Your just one man, a young lamb amongst a pack of wolves,
So while you’re fighting over scraps and loose change,
And moot claims, Pressure’s higher up in the food chain,
And small time predators rove in packs,
That why big time executives throw them scraps,
So much static that this is such a hazardous business,
And having to witness that half these rappers are bitches,
Got me laughing hysterically, I’ve the heart of a pedigree,
So pissing on the next man is just marking my territory,
Rivals will claim over head strong beef,
And try, fighting for fame on these slept on streets,
While I’m, signing my name in the wet concrete,
Touching both sides of your brain when I flex on beats,
And when we sound the drums, I’ll see cowards hung,
When my hour comes I’d rather catch a beat down than run,
It’s just that honest, I don’t rap for these monsters,
Id rather face the music than turn my back on you.

AN AUDIENCE WITH THE DEVIL

(M. Lambert/D. Smith/B. Francis/D. Rankine) Produced by TrialS for Peepshow Entertainment.
Written and performed by M. Lambert.

Verse 1: Suffa

I was granted an audience in the devils maze,
I sat by his throne and we talked for days,
He told me about his ancient battles with arch-angels,
He told me loneliness was the torture most painful,
He said if I filled my lifetime with sin,
I could earn myself a seat that was right by him,
And if I didn’t, that was fine by him,
Cos everyday a million souls just fly right in,
He could barely keep up with the souls of all the people,
It’s not easy being sole controller of all evil,
He said “So many people want to burn with me,
I swear free wills a bitch and so’s eternity,
So what you learn from me might save you from suffering,
You don’t want to see the bowels of the earth rupturing,
Take a breath, suck it in, I got more to tell,
And time’s of no consequence when you’re in hell.”

Verse 2: Suffa

I asked the devil to explain
Why I always think that people have it in for me?
And why I always feel like the sky’s closing in on me?
This is what he said,
“The sky’s not falling it’s just angels committing suicide,
Cos they’re so saddened by humans using genocide,
As a political tool, considering all you humans have,
The way you act belittles you all,
Now hell is so full that we started expanding,
Damnation is a business and the markets demanding.”
I asked him if a city street buckled and cracked,
And hell rose to earth then would heaven collapse?
He smiled; I knew that smile was his response,
I thought to myself, he’s almost got what he wants,
He said “I’ll tell you my one desire,
That’s for earth itself to become my empire,
Every politicians like a gun for hire.
Even the church of nativity’s come under fire,
So you can tell I’m getting close to my goal,
Of creating a world where I can torture every soul.”

Chorus

Sitting with the devil, this is what I learned,
Apart from the ways a human soul can be burned,
It’s that though we learn from our mistakes we’re condemned,
To make those same mistakes again and again,
Sitting with the devil, this is what I learned,
Apart from the ways a human soul can be burned,
It’s that though we learn from our mistakes we’re condemned,
To make those same mistakes again and again,
And time keeps, time keeps slipping away,
Like I keep, I keep slipping away,
Like time keeps, time keeps slipping away,
Like I keep, I keep slipping away,
Like time keeps, time keeps slipping away,
Like I keep, I keep slipping away,
Like time keeps, time keeps slipping away,
Like I keep, I keep slipping away, I keep slipping away.

I CAN’T TAKE IT – BONUS TRACK

(D. Smith/B. Francis/M. Lambert/D. Rankine). Produced by Trials for Peepshow Entertainment.
Written and performed by D. Smith and M. Lambert. Scratches by DJ Debris.

VERSE 1: SUFFA

Man I see all this pain and I realise the game ain’t shit,
Cos I’ve signed these kids arms where they’ve tried to drain they wrists,
And that’s as deep as it gets son,
Deeper that an old drunk beating his stepson,
Man how you gonna mess with a loved one and beat ‘em?
It’s like this demon wanted kids just to mistreat ‘em,
And street preachers scream at the heathens,
Man we’ve been caught in a net like sea creatures,
Free speeches is speechless, we just don’t care that they took it,
We just don’t care that they crooked,
Corruptions like cocaine and everybody’s just so high,
And they’re all so good looking,
Man fuck that, that kids got gravel on,
His knees from the ground that he grovel on, matchstick Babylon,
Burning to the ground, turn it up,
Rip it up, turn it upside down, burn it up,
Our grandfathers died on battlefields so we could die on toilet floors,
Smack up, pass out and soil our draws,
Cut throat, blood soaks and soils our shores,
We got a war for oil that gives oil for wars,
Fuck that man cos I’m a believer,
I love life, I love peace, it’s like they don’t love either,
My love is deeper, my brothers keeper,
It’s like they want to send us all into the fucking ether, what?

Verse 2: PRESSURE

Is the world made of plastic?
Is the city buried in schemes? Aint it tragic?
Captured, we rage at delay in traffic,
Till it beats us into shape like our hates a blacksmith,
White and blue collared chains, like it escaped our notice,
When the fuck we became the process,
Tainted focus, drained and so stressed, pain of slow death,
No, burn it down in the name of progress,
Reseed, teach and grow, the most lethal foe,
Is one that kills for a reason he don’t even to know,
While media’s feeding you evening shows,
Like vampires getting high on other peoples lows,
So while the courts are choked with matters the only status,
That counts is the amount over balance,
Cos credit is a loan attached to a rope and ladder,
If you don’t know the swagger of cloak and dagger,
Sex workers and streets urchins house in squalor,
While the churches god nurtures our good dollar,
Murders, politics, don’t be absurd it’s gonna,
Surface, hidden by their courteous vows of honour,
And in the hope that I cope and get over,
I flow with the doper lines than La Coca Nostra,
And I’m focused and know where the loves at,
Ya’ll gotta go there to come back